


Jewels In The Sand

by bendy_quill



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexual Female Character of Color, F/F, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:50:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9483644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendy_quill/pseuds/bendy_quill
Summary: Isabela makes good on her promise to Hawke and sweeps her away to Antiva City for a few days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of [Musing in the Meadow](http://bendy-quill.tumblr.com/post/148924139089/musing-in-the-meadow#notes).

They call Antiva City the “jewel of the east,” a place filled with fascinating and colorful personalities that form an impressive gem nestled deep in the rocky face of Antiva’s coastal region. 

The last time Isabela sets foot in the city, her thoughts were scrambled. The bold captain moves through the streets, unsure of anything anymore but unwilling to face her confusion outright. But Antiva City is full of opportunity and things move at a quick pace. No time to spend dawdling with each job she takes, and at the time it helps immensely while she tries to sort things out. 

Even still, she’s seen the city a thousand times. Her early raider years saw her staying in the many vibrant taverns by the docks and chasing the most valuable plunder she can find. As a captain, she looks upon the city in the distance from the deck of a glorious ship—a glittering thing in the bright and scorching sun, and a place not quite home but still more familiar than any other place she’s been. Antiva City becomes her stomping grounds, not a place she lives per se but one where her name is well known, and she revels in the life she builds—Queen of the Eastern Seas treating herself to exquisite luxuries and all the coin, booze, and comfort she could ever want.

On the deck of the _Iron Maiden_ , a terrible name for a ship but she bites her tongue nonetheless, she openly stares at Antiva City fast approaching port side and still glittering since the last time she was there.

“Isabela?” Her gaze snaps to Hawke. “Everything alright?”

Hawke wears her hair loose, dark curls fluttering in the breeze and bright sun beating down on her brown skin. She leans on the wooden supports with crossed arms and an excited look in her eye, as much the curious maiden on an exciting voyage as she could possibly be. The scene plays out almost exactly as Isabela imagines when she makes the promise to cart Hawke off to an adventure away from Kirkwall. 

“I’m glad it’s just us together for this.” Isabela slides her arm around Hawke’s waist and gives her playful pinch. “We’re gonna have fun!”

~

She would never take advantage of Hawke’s generosity, but her prosperity comes in handy while searching for lodging in one of the wealthiest port cities in Thedas. They find an inn not far from the docks called the “Dove’s Nest.” The crystalline waters of the Rialto Bay crash against the rocky ridges, miles of vineyards stretching along winding paths in the distance, and the bustling docks welcoming new merchants ships lay beyond the open balcony doors carting in the gentle sea breeze.  

“This bed is better than the one you have,” Isabela says, pillows muffling her words. 

The bed dips and Hawke’s hair tickles her arm as she settles in. “A good feather count can change your life if you know what you’re looking for. But satin bedding? Ugh.” 

Isabela turns her head towards Hawke. “Now, that’s funny. Last I remembered, you liked a little luxury here and there.”

“Oh, I still do. But satin bedding in this humid weather is a bad combination.” Hawke stretches and yawns. “We’re gonna melt in all of this heat.”

Isabela brushes her fingers along Hawke’s cheek, eyes carefully watching her face as she twirls a bit of Hawke’s curly hair around her finger. “We won’t be in the room long enough to really feel that.”

It feels good seeing Hawke lean into her touch, heavy eyelids drooping as the exhausting voyage finally catches up with her. 

“Speaking of which…” Hawke starts.

“Antiva City is huge, so that helps. The Golden Plaza is around here somewhere, but I know your priority is the marketplace. There’s a lot of good stuff there—all things you’ll definitely like—and, if you want, we could catch a gondola ride.”

Hawke smiles very sweetly. “That sounds so romantic.”

“And cheesy.”

“Trust me, it’ll be worth it. We’ll go on a lovely ride under the stars and kickstart my raider career. Unless we don’t plan on doing that after all.”

Isabela smirks. “Of course, sweet thing. I promised you an adventure, didn’t I?” Isabela leans down and presses a gentle kiss against Hawke’s forehead. “Sleep first. Can’t go adventuring when we’re dead tired, right?”

“Alright.” Hawke slips out of the bed to rummage through her bags to find her satin bonnet and Isabela watches her, anxious but excited all the same.

~

Morning greets them with the sound of song birds and boisterous shouting on the streets below. Hawke moves slower than Isabela, sea legs not quite developed, yet still she brims with enthusiasm even at the crack of dawn. 

Isabela dresses simply in comfortable trousers and a loose blouse with a few bangles on her wrists and several knives securely tucked in easy to reach places. While Hawke applies her makeup, Isabela braids her hair into the familiar cornrows Hawke always favors. She adds little golden accents to the ends of each braid she finishes and in the mirror, Hawke smiles at the additions.

“What are we doing today?” Hawke asks. 

“Roleplay.” 

Hawke tilts her head and cocks a brow. “This early?”

“It’ll be fun!” Isabela slides the last accent in place and urges Hawke to rise from her seat. She takes Hawke’s hand and properly bows, lips pressing a soft kiss upon her hands. “You’re an extravagant noblewoman from a house of infamous widows envied by an entire city. Your presence draws a thousand curious eyes as you march through the marble streets unbothered.”

Hawke snorts. “Am I on the prowl for a new spouse that will spoil me with riches?”

Isabela slides her gaze over Hawke and then shifts around her, trailing her hand along her waist. “Your last husband is Marquis Something Or Other—an old lout with enough money to last you a life time but had crusty fingers that barely made the wait worth it.” Isabela playfully tugs at the silk belt of Hawke’s robe and she is facing Hawke again with a grin on her face. “You meet a dashing raider captain with a clever tongue and can-do attitude at your favorite tavern. She intervenes during your attempted kidnapping and you are mesmerized in an instant. You track her down and hire her to commandeer some of your merchant ships, forming an unlikely partnership. You spend years trading letters and doing business.”

“A savvy widow and a notorious raider captain—this is getting interesting.”

“You care little for gossip or the traditions associated with wealthy widows. You have no need to—no soul is willing to test the influence you have.” Isabela continues. “Things heat up between you and your lover. She’s finally reached port after weeks at sea. You are anxious to meet with your lover for she promises to shower you with affection.”

Isabela undoes the belt with one tug, letting it fan open, exposing warm skin and heavy breasts she wants to lavish with kisses. She pushes the robe off Hawke’s shoulders, grinning as Hawke lifts her chin, sable eyes filled with a seductive intensity befitting the extravagant noblewoman unafraid of chasing her desires. 

“You are as devastating as you are beautiful,” Isabela walks her fingers down a naked shoulder, “raised in a sheltered life but as ruthless as some of the worst names whispered amongst the most notorious raider groups. Early one morning, you leave the walls of your estate and meet your lover in the lobby of an inn.” 

Isabela seals their lips, breath catching in her chest and nerves set ablaze. Hawke is slow and sweet, returns her kiss with a boldness that makes her knees weak. When they pull back, they stare directly into each other’s eyes, transformation complete and a whole day of fun ahead of them just waiting for their grand appearance.

“We’ll take the city by storm, a captain and her lover, daring anyone to cross their path, and spoiling each other.”

Hawke grins with the same dangerous mystique she wears in the heat of glorious battle.

“I got you.” She says, eagerly nodding. “I got you.”

~

A variety of patrons pass through the exquisite lobby, each dressed to the nines. The place reeks of it—extravagance and prestigious titles—money and riches inherited, but not earned. Their shrill voices chatter at the inn keeper, exchanged pleasantries dripping with poisonous glee, a little flutter of an old woman’s fan and her forced giggle attempting to draw the eyes of every patron milling about.

But the Captain feels the trepidation in the air and curious eyes fixating on her in the corner. She prefers her leathers, boiled and reinforced well enough to stop a blade in its tracks, but light enough to give advantage over her enemies. But today is a special occasion. Even for a raider, her choice of dress is sharp and commanding, a simple set  of boots, trousers, and loose blouse cloaked by a long black coat. 

She sits with crossed legs, hardened gaze meeting the nervous eyes of the _Dove’s Nest_ , gauging each one of them despite knowing all are little more than a waste of her time. 

A brave soul finds her and does not flinch, pretty green eyes sliding over the Captain’s frame and teeth catching his bottom lip. Anyone else and she might pluck those pretty eyes out of his skull for daring. Instead, she holds his gaze, cocksure grin sliding onto her face and affirming the trouble she would most certainly bring. 

She only looks away when her lover finally descends the marble steps.

The Comtesse swathes herself in a deep purple, trim and lace spun of gold, and sparkling gems adorning her wrists and neck. Patrons and servants alike crash into each other to sneak a glimpse at the dark-eyed woman standing at the foot of the steps. She appears as an enchantress, embodying elegance and danger, luring wide-eyed gazes and ensnaring curious onlookers in her spell.

The Captain rises from her seat, adjusts her coat, and approaches the Comtesse with unwavering steps. As she moves, the Captain makes sure to cast a brief glance at the green-eyed man still waiting with his mother. 

“Your Ladyship,” she greets, properly bowing and kissing the Comtesse’s soft hands. “I’ve missed you a great deal. I hope you experienced little difficulty in your travels.”

The Comtesse smirks and retracts her hand. “Quite the opposite in fact. But finally being here with you,” the Comtesse hits the Captain with a look that makes her tremble with excitement, “makes the wait entirely worth it, my Captain.”

The Captain offers an arm with a haughty laugh and lets the Comtesse grasp her elbow. “It shall, Your Ladyship. It most certainly shall.”

The Captain leads the Comtesse across the lobby, pleasant conversation settling between each other, but voices lowering to a hush when they pass the green-eyed man. The Comtesse fixes him with a cold stare, eyes raking over every inch of him and frightening the man stiff. When she finishes, her face shifts, no longer leveling the man with cold eyes but rather bemused mockery. 

Her haughty guffaw resonates through the room as his face reddens.

~

Antiva’s marketplace is bustling with merchants and customers alike, all rushing from one shop to the next chasing lavish goods. Even street level merchants are prone to the aggressive selling tactics most of the Merchant-Families engage in, promising longer lasting and better quality items to curious passersby. 

The Captain marches alongside the Comtesse, hands behind her back and indomitable swagger sending merchants, servants, and nobles scattering in her wake. Or perhaps they flee the Comtesse and her overwhelming presence, swathed in glittering gems but carrying an unspoken warning through mere existence.

Her Ladyship weaves through the crowd and browses through entire racks full of sparkling jewelry, silk fans, and even silkier dresses. She scrunches her nose at certain finds, refusing to give even a passing glance to the merchants practically begging for her to come back. The Captain takes note of the baubles the Comtesse ignores and others she purchases requesting a later pick up for the items. 

“So much for such tiny things,” the Comtesse bemoans, handing off the most recent proof of purchase to the Captain. “Yet the thought of having them makes me a bit giddy.”

The Captain stuffs the proof of purchase in her inner coat pocket, joining three others already in place, and snorts. “’Tis not a staple of your lot? Your incessant need to have what the other ladies at court don’t possess?” The Comtesse glances at the Captain. “The next fashion at your fingertips and the delicious shame it will bring that two-faced wench that dared to impugn your name at the last Wintersend ball?”

The Comtesse laughs, husky and cool. “I fear nothing from the two-faced creatures masquerading in all their made up glory.” She walks with a superiority that sends three more finely dressed nobles skittering out of her way. “What use is a bauble if your conviction is weak? Material things are exactly that—material—and while I enjoy them a great deal,” the Comtesse’s menacing gaze finds the Captain again, stoking no fear but a very intense hunger deep in her belly, “nothing quite compares to the ability to stop an entire street in its tracks.”

It’s a sentiment the Captain appreciates, the very same that draws her to the Comtesse and sees her coaxing every bit of that bold attitude to the surface every chance she gets. A woman that knows her worth, doesn’t bother explaining or defending it because it isn’t necessary to waste precious time or breath on impudence. 

“Were it not for the very intimate details of your life I am privy to, I almost certainly would’ve mistaken you for a member of my crew, Your Ladyship.”

The Comtesse smirks. “Unlikely.”

She is right—a woman as unbowing as Her Ladyship would commandeer the whole ship if it struck her fancy.

The two spend the rest of the day petrifying and mesmerizing the marketplace, dropping more coin on luxuries that catch their eye and pulling at each other’s strings the whole way. The Comtesse spends coin unafraid, indulging in everything that meets her impeccable taste.

Nothing stands in the Comtesse’s way. She belongs to herself, steers true and strong towards a life she deems herself worthy of having. 

There is no middle ground, no compromise, no conversation that needs to be had at the expense of others. Her time is too precious and her dreams too extravagant to let someone else’s feelings weigh her down.

Dusk settles over Antiva City and the lamp posts are lit with a fire, casting a calm glow over the slate streets. Even at this hour, people wander about, firelight glinting off silver, gold, and gems. The sound of chatter gives way to the crescendo of music filling the still vibrant streets. 

A crowd of people gather around a small group of bards, the pluck of the strings, whistle of the flute, and beat of the drums steadily increasing in melodic harmony as the crowd grows larger. Several couples make space in the middle, breaking into an upbeat dance the Captain has seen many times before. Antivan quick step is a staple every person, no matter station or race, finds themselves enamored to when good music and better drink stir in the blood.

The Captain watches with a smile for a long time, remembering the night she spent on the sees watching the crew drunkenly slur the words of a shanty and spilling rum all over themselves. She glances at the Comtesse and flinches when she realizes the woman is gone. 

Her Ladyship pushes her way through the crowd, some parting on their own as her overbearing presence leads her forward and others pulling people aside for her. The musicians catch her figure moving to the middle, curious glances trading between them and music shifting to something seductive but still upbeat. 

All eyes are drawn to the Comtesse standing alone in the middle of four dancing couples but if she acknowledges the crowd, she doesn’t show it openly. She starts off slowly, arms rising and hips twisting in a slow circle, eliciting scandalous gasps from the crowd. No one misses a step, the dancing couples creating a routine on the fly that matches the music and the pace the Comtesse forges on her own. 

Even without words, she bends others to her will, making the couples move in sync with every half step and twirl of her skirts. While the music shifts with the will of the bards,   it is truly the Comtesse that leads. A colorful trill of the flute with the wind of her hips, furious pounding of the drums in time with shake of her shoulders, blissful, and amazing. A mesmerizing sight to behold.

As the songs carry on and the pace quickens again, the Comtesse twirls and twirls, smile growing brighter as her skirts rise higher. The crowd hangs on to her every move—leans toward her when she moves away and back when she steps close. Her eyes meet every awestruck stare, daring a partner worthy of her to come forward. 

No one can. No one does. No one can muster the will to meet her challenge, to rise to her strength with the same confidence she exudes. 

But the Captain pushes through the crowd and strides towards the Comtesse without hesitation. Her arms easily slip around her soft waist and though the first step is hers, the Comtesse does not follow her lead. They shift and they move, both pushing and pulling, trading on and off with the lead. To the curious eye, they are moving no differently than any other couple twirling about.

But the Captain and the Comtesse know the truth—know theirs is an intimacy born of a mutual appreciation of indomitable wills. 

They want and they will take. They dream and they will have. They are and they will always be.

Captain and Comtesse. Unafraid of agreeing with their own perceptions of what they deserve.

~

The dancing keeps the Captain hot under the collar all throughout dinner. Fine wine and exquisite spices become forgettable the longer she spends in the seductive company of her dear Comtesse. She wants a taste of something else, of familiar heat and silken desire on her eager tongue. 

The Captain’s eyes stray no further than the Comtesse’s lips—pursing lips, full lips, sweet and endearing lips—lips her body remembers ghosting over quivering thighs and heavy breasts, sliding lower and lower. Or rising higher and higher in a searing kiss with a heady flavor on the tip of each other’s tongues. 

Her attention is averted by the curious tilt of her Comtesse’s head. They stare each other down for a long while before the Captain finally speaks.

“Do you care for dessert, my Ladyship?”

The Comtesse smiles warmly. “I’ve yet to decide what strikes my fancy. Although, I will say,” Her Ladyship gently touches the Captain’s hand. The shiver that runs down her spine, Maker help her, she would have the woman on the table in the full view of every patron if she could have her way. The Comtesse holds her gaze, fire burning in her mischievous eyes, and the Captain licks her lips. “I’m open to suggestions.”

The walk back to their room lasts longer than she’s comfortable with, but as soon as the door is shut, the Captain slams the Comtesse against it. Their kiss is open and fervent, hungry lips and starving souls searching for precious sustenance. The Captain sinks her teeth into her lover’s neck and shoves her thigh between her legs when she gasps.

Her lips shift to her ear, hands bringing the Comtesse forward and scrabbling at the ties holding her dress together. 

“I’ll give you something sweet,” her Comtesse whispers. “Something you can’t stand.”

The dress falls in a heap at the Comtesse’s feet and they work together to strip the Captain the same. Giggles ring out as they fumble with the boots, trousers following in a crumpled heap, and shirt and jacket tossed with equal abandon.  

She tumbles back onto the bed with her lover in her lap, lavishing kisses to her face and gentle touches that drive her mad. Her hands wander everywhere, gliding over soft skin and pulling her lover close. 

So close. Close enough that she can hardly stand it—the smell of her perfume on her neck, her raspy voice in her ear… 

“Touch me.” 

That’s _Hawke_. Her Hawke. Loving, sweet, and carefree Hawke. 

Hawke that sighs when she gets what she wants, a hand of her own slipping between Isabela’s thighs to return the affection. 

Push and pull. Give and receive. They walk on equal footing with each other, inciting and touching each other in all the ways they love. Hawke takes Isabela’s nipple in her mouth, rolling and teasing, fingertips brimming with a familiar magic that has Isabela’s hips rising off the bed. 

Fire blazes in her blood, heat pooling deep in her belly. A swipe of tongue curls around her hardened bud, and she’s thinking of how vulnerable she is lying flat on her back, pearl throbbing under the practiced hand of Hawke and body shaking with the desperation she stirs. 

Isabela swallows around the dryness in her throat and meets Hawke’s gaze as she shifts from one breast to the other. Hawke watches her face, sable eyes filled with something Isabela knows is gentle and kind love, something that makes her turn away. 

“Look at me,” Hawke pleads, letting Isabela’s nipple fall from her mouth. 

Isabela does. She looks with shuddery breaths and little whimpers on her parted lips. She looks with a little stab of fear in her mind but heart daring to take the chance to know, to see, to feel every bit of herself in Hawke’s hands. 

“Please look at me.” Hawke whispers between the valley of her breasts, eyes still locked to hers and body sliding down. Isabela feels the tremble in her stomach at the press of Hawke’s lips, butterflies and anticipation, soft feelings she can hardly stand. Hawke’s breath puffs against her quivering thighs. “I want to see all of you, Bela. I want to see everything.”

An embarrassing moan passes through Isabela’s lips. Fucking Hawke with her honeyed sentiments—words dripping with truth and tongue leaving little messages of love in her wake. 

Upon her nether lips— _I love you_.

Around her swollen pearl— _You’re beautiful_.

Inside her, so deep inside her— _I cherish you_.

Hawke’s fingers taking the place of her tongue, letting her return to lavishing Isabela with lips enclosed around her pearl, and pulling every quake and moan from Isabela— _You deserve this. Us. love_.

Isabela goes hoarse with her shouts and screams, fingers pinching her nipples and body trembling all over. Hawke drives her mad—letting up with the slow drag of her tongue and, in the next moment, she makes Isabela squirming when she moves faster, touches her more, rakes her nails down her thigh, and calls out so Isabela doesn’t look away again. 

And she goes higher—

Higher—

Unrelenting and more.

Isabela’s lips are dry but she tilts her head back and screams. 

“Hawke! Hawke! Maker fuck!” 

Her fingers clutch the sheets so tight and her body finally springs loose. Hawke doesn’t stop until she’s a limber mess, fingers and tongue working until Isabela weakly pushes at her head with heaving breaths. 

Her chest hurts something fierce and burns with every gasp of air. When Hawke pops into view licking her lips, Isabela can only manage a husky laugh before her lover gifts her with a wonderful kiss. She can taste herself on the tip of Hawke’s tongue and a contented sigh rumbles through her body. 

“I…” Isabela doesn’t even know where to start, how to start even. She stares off trying to find something profound to say. Even after everything, she’s still not good at this emotions stuff. 

A gentle touch to her cheek brings her back and she’s met with sable eyes filled with a genuine concern that has her melting all over again.

“How are you feeling?” Comes the inquiry, said with a softness so familiar. 

Suddenly, she remembers her declaration in the foyer of Hawke’s estate, voice cracking and hands trembling with every word, but heart so sure of the undeniable feelings she harbors. They make love that night, something she initially approaches with indifference, but finds herself enjoying the longer she spends in the company of someone she can admit to truly loving.

Isabela smiles, warm and true. “I’m good.” She leans up and steals another kiss from Hawke with a laugh. “I’m so good right now.” She wraps her arms around Hawke, shifting forward and turning their bodies over. “Come here,” she urges, settling next to Hawke with a tentative hand gently stroking her thighs. “Come here, sweet thing.”

She slips her hand between Hawke’s thighs, lips meeting in a sweet kiss, and Isabela barely contains her pleased laugh at the sound of Hawke’s muffled and shuddery moan.

~

Her bonnet smells of coconut and sunshine, sweet despite the muggy air stifling their room with the scent of salt water. Isabela presses closer to Hawke’s sleeping form. 

A few more minutes and her eyes slip shut again, one arm draping over her lover’s waist and head nuzzled close to Hawke’s neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Few people walk away from the Golden Plaza without being mesmerized by the glittering rooftops and bright mosaic patterns scattered throughout the district. During her notorious raider years, Isabela rarely made her way through this part of Antiva City. The foremost elite kept to these streets, holding their noses up at anyone not worthy of their time and ignoring the plights of everyone around them.

It reeks of that special brand of elitism she can’t stand—same one that the folks up in the Viscount’s Keep exude. Yet she doesn’t stray far from Hawke’s side as they make their way through the streets completely unbothered by the the harsh stares thrown their way. 

They stop by a bookshop with one of the largest selections Isabela discovers in a very long time. She skims through a lot of them, only purchases some to take back to Kirkwall, and laughs when she finds that Hawke purchases nearly all the same books. 

Lunch for the day is at an exquisite tavern with an outdoor eating area that sits on a balcony with a view of the vineyards along the hills surrounding Antiva City. Their food is delicious—artful dedication garnishing the rice, seasoned to perfection, and pork glazed and seared wonderfully—and Isabela gleefully watches Hawke enthusiastically dig into her first bite of genuine Antivan food. 

She stares absently for a long time, just basking in the peace, and Hawke notices with a tilt of her head.

Isabela happily sighs. “This is so peaceful, I can hardly stand it.”

Hawke smiles. “Scary what a few minutes of quiet can do, eh? I should move here. Just pack up all my shit and run as far north as I can.”

“I thought Kirkwall was your home?” Isabela leans on the table with a smirk. “‘Something, something—I won’t let you take my home—something.’ Or at least, that’s what I remember you telling the Arishok before you punched him in the throat.”

“I said a lot of things to the Arishok, some of which may or may not have been bullshit.” Hawke shrugs and stabs her fork into another piece of sliced pork. “But at this point, a change of venue would be nice.”

Part of her knows Hawke won’t do it. Seven years ago, Hawke ran with her brother and mother to Kirkwall fleeing a threat no one had the power to stop. The city fights them at first, but Carver and Hawke fight back, side by side, pushing through the next job with as much determination as the last. They put blood and tears into a new life, dealt with palpable fears every time the Templars came knocking with their suspicions. 

Kirkwall is just as much a part of Hawke as she is a part of it and she couldn’t let go even if she tried. 

But the thought does cross her mind—Hawke gliding through the halls of a traditional Antivan home, marble floors and intricate carvings etched into the columns and staircase. A sheer dressing gown, a sensual wine red color, hides not an inch of Hawke’s body as she moves throughout candlelit halls. Even in her home, the quiet is impeded by her presence, echoes of her footsteps reminding everyone within that she’s always there. 

Isabela can see herself slipping in and out of the house all hours of the day—sometimes to get some air and others for days on end. She could walk through the door one night, house illuminated by the golden glow of candlelight, and quiet gripping the place in a way that excites her. Up the steps, one by one, five doors leading to five different rooms but only one containing her dear lover. 

“Isabela?” Hawke calls. She glances at her, brows rising in a questioning manner. “What’s on your mind? You look like you’re lost in thought.”

Silk ribbons around Hawke’s wrists but tied to nothing, dressing gown lying on the floor where Isabela stands, and brown skin shimmering like gold under candlelight… Her playful gaze over her shoulder, soft laugh replaced by a deep sigh when Isabela sets her mouth on the back of her neck…

But the dressing gown would be a lovely touch as well—silk and lace pulled up over Hawke’s hips, hands on the balcony and legs spread apart, screaming into the night on her tip toes with fingers and lips teasing her into a wonderful and messy finish. 

Isabela thoughtfully rubs her chin. 

“Do you have any dressing gowns at home?” she asks, nervously flinching at how comfortable the word “home” passes through her lips. 

Hawke quirks a brow. 

~

Night sneaks up on them again, stretching over yonder and dusted with millions of twinkling little stars. They casually walk along the stone path where small stalls line along the rickety docks of the gondola port.

The boats are impressive little things with comfortable seats built inside of a compartment that separates the riders from the rower. A single window is carved into the intricate wood and shields its occupant with a silk curtain. 

Several couples shuffle on and off the little boats, some hanging back to help their partners onto the dock. Even here, the rowers passionately vie for patronage, promising to show parts of the Rialto Bay that no one has ever seen. 

They settle with a rugged looking dwarf and his boat. One look in his eyes and Isabela can tell he can actually deliver on what he promises. He helps Hawke into the gondola first but Isabela slides in rather easily. Within a few minutes of settling across from one another, the rower pushes off and steers them into the bay.

She watches Hawke the entire time, sticking her head out and shifting in her seat to see all the impressive sights the rower calls out. They pass the vineyards under the cover of night and marvel at the moonlight illuminating the cliffsides, turning slate into silver. On the opposite side of the bay is Antiva City in her golden glory, music blasting in the distance. 

And Hawke notes each with a innocent spark in her eyes, soft smile plastered on her face, and body leaning as close to the window as she can. 

It’s been seven years since she first met Hawke in the Hanged Man, cheap whiskey pumping through her blood but eyes curiously lingering on the woman with a mage’s staff clearly strapped to her back.

It’s been six years since she first laid with Hawke, sure hands practically tearing through clothes and body set ablaze by a kind of magic she can’t see but— _Maker_ —can she feel.

It’s been three years since she made the choice to stop running, to make her way back to Kirkwall on a foolish wish that maybe, just maybe, Hawke could be different this time. 

Isabela opens her mouth, but closes it the moment Hawke glances at her. 

“I’m so glad you brought us out here, Isabela.” Her heart skips a beat. 

She doesn’t respond, not out of cruelty but out of disbelief. Yet somehow, Hawke’s gentle hand on her knee speaks volumes between them. Touch that is wanted, eyes pleased with what sits before them, and honest smiles thrown her way. 

Isabela interlocks their fingers and lets silence hang between them, shattered only by the water lapping at the boat as they glide through the bay.

~

They make love tonight, tentative hands and even more tentative kisses pressing upon every inch of each other’s skin. Their eyes never stray from one another’s faces, gasps puffing against necks and moans rising with each minute. Everything is slow, every touch is full of a deep seated feeling—some parts love and a lot of parts passion. Foreheads pressed together, both touching each other with steady hands, and at the height of climax, a very slow and very warm kiss. 

And they do it again. 

And again.

And again.

Slow. Sweet. Undeniably sure.

~

Isabela shares a lot of similarities with Hawke, but the razor sharp focus they undertake on a job is one of the most striking between them. She watches Hawke fight tooth and nail for every coin needed to fund Bartrand’s expedition and, from what Aveline says, Hawke is even more dogged during her first year in Kirkwall. Hawke may not like the pressure of holding a title as prestigious as “Champion,” but she certainly doesn’t earn the title by sitting on her ass and twiddling her thumbs. 

She earns it with hands soaked in qunari blood, fury on her face and teeth bared to the group slowly backing away from their dead Arishok. 

She earns it staring down a Knight-Commander looking pointedly at the staff in her hands, but still defiantly bucks her chin, daring anyone to slap cuffs on her wrists while the crowd chants her name.

She earns it knowing somewhere in the beyond, her mother, father, and sister look on with pride knowing that Hawke never stops, that she keeps climbing and climbing, unafraid of anything and revered by all. 

Isabela glances at Hawke as they weave through the empty alleyways and corners of Antiva City this quiet night. Hawke would be an incredible asset upon her ship, branded by a name already infamous, calm visage belying an incredible storm—a tempest—ready to tear up entire fleets while taking what she wants without hesitation. 

“Yes?” Hawke calls. Isabela startles and quickly looks away. “You’re staring and I can feel it.”

“I’ve been thinking of your future raider moniker. It could be something storm related but I think your name is pretty self-explanatory.”

“You think so?” Hawke asks.

“I mean, how many Hawkes do you know that can claim they survived the Blight, the Deep Roads, and a qunari invasion? Shit, I don’t even think you’re the same person that did all that sometimes.”

Hawke muffles her laugh with her hand.

They arrive in the seedier side of Antiva City and Isabela is finally in familiar territory where some of the meanest looking raiders eye both of them as they pass. There’s life in these streets and personalities promising a lot with only a glance. Some of them stare her down to posture and she gives an icy look right back. She doesn’t even have to look at Hawke to know many shrink back with shallow gulps of air.

If they could see the numerous cuts on Hawke’s hands, some raised and poorly healed over time, they’d see the tattoos on her knuckles—“these hands”—deliverers of life and death. But her passing glance is enough. 

It’s always enough. 

Isabela and Hawke forge on through the streets, buildings growing closer and more dilapidated in appearance. A well-illuminated brothel sits in the middle of the district with patrons loitering outside and some bearing the elaborate mark of the East End Brigand along the lengths of their exposed arms. 

“This is it,” Isabela says, slowing down to a halt. She glances at Hawke. “Are you ready to kickstart your raider career?” 

Hawke eagerly nods. “Fuck yes.”

~

The brothel is filled with some of the most beautiful people Isabela sees in a long time. Antivans love their gold and waste no time adorning themselves from head to toe in beautiful jewelry that perfectly complements their silks and lace. These patrons wear little more than silk and gold, glittering in the candlelight, and tossing equally marvelous smiles in the direction of any person that catches their eye. 

Hawke nudges her and nods towards two burly people blocking entry beyond a door, both marked with the sigil of the East End Brigand. They approach slowly, both hands in plain sight, until they stand face to face with Ernesto’s crew looking down on the two of them.

“Bar’s on the left.” One says, pointedly nodding at the many patrons clustered around it and merrily drinking.

“Not here for drinks,” Isabela says, slowly reaching behind her. The two crew members jump, both hands reaching for concealed weapons, when Isabela produces a letter branded with the seal of the East End Brigand and waves it at them.

Both fall into place quickly, opening the door for her and Hawke and ushering them inside without a word. They walk down the long corridor in silence, the flickering candlelight guiding their path towards the very end of the hall in front of a large wooden door. 

Being here again brings back many memories. Isabela pushes the door open and four crew members whip around with knives already drawn, but a heavy set man behind a desk shouts for them to stop. 

“Easy,” Ernesto orders. He rises to his feet and steps around his people. “Show some respect—this is Captain Isabela—” His gaze darts towards Hawke and he looks her over, “—and her esteemed guest, ‘Tempest.’” He gestures for them both to sit and, after a quick glance, they oblige. 

“You normally have me meet you out in the ass end of nowhere for jobs, Ernesto.” Isabela remarks, absently waving a hand at the rather lavishly decorated office. “This is new.”

His boisterous laugh hasn’t changed a bit. “Ah well! Antiva City is better about privacy than most places.” He nods towards the corner of the room where two shrouded figures sit upon a settee, both openly staring at Isabela and Hawke from across the room. She recognizes their gait easily, remembers when she summoned a Crow of her own a long time ago, but she is hardly afraid. Ernesto keeps his fingers in a lot of pies and it doesn’t surprise her in the least to see Crows about. “And it helps having friends around here.”

“I’ll say,” Isabela responds dryly.

“So what about you?” Ernesto nods at Hawke, whom has yet to speak. Her fiery gaze doesn’t falter at the sudden attention but she does tilt her chin, a tale tell sign that she recognizes a challenge being thrown her way and that her resolve will see it answered depending on how things escalate. “Your, ah, ‘friend’ seems pretty intense.”

Isabela smirks. “She’s good for it, Ernesto. She just hates it when people waste her time.”

“Otherwise, I find ways to make shit worth my time.” Hawke finally says, voice dangerously low and clipped tone as icy as her gaze. “I don’t need fanfare or friendship. I just came to get paid.”

Ernesto nods approvingly, lips pulling into a thin smile at the powerful infliction in Hawke’s tone. Isabela realizes how much Ernesto stares at Hawke, eyes not challenging but gauging her. Sizing people up comes with the territory in this life, but even shored as she has been for these past ten years, she can tell when someone is judging the worth of a potential crew member. “I can respect that. How’s it go? It’s more beneficial to be feared than to be loved. Something like that.” 

Hawke shrugs her shoulders. “Does it matter? You either fuck with me or you don’t. I don’t have time to sort through other people’s motivations.” 

Ernesto is quiet for a long time, seemingly satisfied with the answer Hawke gives him. In the time she’s gotten to know Hawke, she’s always been adamant about that aspect of herself. It’s a very respectable attitude. 

Finally, Ernesto looks back at Isabela. The jovial air around him shifts, brows drawing tight and voice lowering considerably.  One of the crewmembers shuts the door. 

“There’s a ship docking tomorrow night,” he explains. “Has a full crew and the captain is one of the meanest bastards this far north. They have some pretty valuable stuff—mostly spices and whatnot—but the particular thing we’re focused on? Six daggers.”

Isabela quirks a brow. “Daggers?”

“The six daggers of Livia Armenius of Qarinus.” Isabela and Hawke trade confused looks. “Some Tevinter hero or something. Not really important. All you need to know is that all six of her daggers are incredibly valuable.” 

“How much?” Hawke asks.

Ernesto sucks his teeth as he ponders her question. “Thirty sovereigns for each dagger, but the whole collection? I got a buyer over in Val Royeaux looking to spend a cool three hundred for the whole set.”

“I assume the asking price is doubled because of hazard,” Isabela remarks. “Or was that just that silver tongue of yours?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Let’s just say the buyer is very interested in this particular set. I don’t get it—you want a knife that kills, I know people that can do it better for cheaper—but it’s not about that with these types, is it?” Ernesto leans closer and Hawke tenses up. Isabela sets a hand on Hawke’s thigh, a silent plea of patience. “What’s important is what you get out of it, yes? There’s a warehouse on the far end of the docks where the set will be moved. We’re gonna slip in, swipe the set, and get it to my client. You help me, you get a cut.”

“How much?” Isabela asks. “Three hundred sovereigns is a lot of money.”

“I try to be fair.” Ernesto waves a hand at the guards standing still as stone by the door. “Someone has to set an example around here.” 

“How much?” Isabela repeats.

Ernesto rubs his chin. “Thirty for each of you, plus any other stuff you find that you want to keep.”

It’s an extremely low deal. Thirty is for each of them, but she didn’t get this far in life by just settling for whatever table scraps came flying her way. Isabela is—was—a captain that commandeered a ship of over 200 people. Money may be good for her now, but coin is coin and she won’t be stiffed for anything.

“We can get the job done, but, Ernesto,” Isabela crosses her arms, “that’s pretty low, even for you.”

He ponders the thought for a long time before he sighs deeply, a pang of guilt very briefly appearing on his face. 

“You know I’m good for coin, Isabela,” his eyes dart to the Crows still staring at them from across the room, “but this isn’t just about making money. It’s not my business. Someone said ‘hey, bring me this and I can give you this,’ and I want the most I can get out of it.”

It’s none of her business and she won’t ask any questions. But if the Crows, or Ernesto, or whomever wants this set of knives seeks to have them, she will only deliver if a fair payment finds its way into her palm. 

“Forty, plus anything we swipe on our own.” 

“Isabela—”

She shakes her head. “I know why I’m here and I know what you making me come here means. Keep things hush because the details are too important to risk out in the open.” Isabela turns to stare at the shrouded figures in the corner of the room, dangerous smile tugging at her lips when they shift under her gaze. “And your ‘friends,’” she turns back to Ernesto, “you don’t see them during these types of jobs that often.”

Ernesto is quiet and she knows she has him. Details and specifics outside of her involvement don’t matter much to her, but she can recognize a truly big take when she sees it. A cool three hundred her ass…

“You need this job to pan out so you’re taking help. If you didn’t need me here, you wouldn’t have asked me to come.” Isabela jerks her head towards Hawke. “In fact, you let me bring a friend too. It’s none of my business what this whole secrecy deal is about, but,” her eyes narrow, “I know when I’m being lied to about a take. I don’t care why or who these are really for, but you will pay me what I am worth if you want my help. Forty a piece. Final decision.”

A long silence settles over the room and the tension is thick enough to cut with a blade. She may not have a ship and a crew, but the things she learns along the way never slip from her mind. A deal is a deal and, while there is a general code of conduct, a fair cut is something she never forgets how to finagle. 

Ernesto clears his throat and leans back in his chair. “There’s no negotiating this further, is there?”

“If you’re confident about your chances, then we’ve got nothing further to discuss.”

He stares at her for a long time but the weary look on his face affirms what she already knows—she’s got him. Forty sovereigns is nothing compared to what he’s really going to make but she’ll be dead in the ground before she lets someone pull the wool over her eyes like that.

“Damnation.”

Isabela glances at Hawke and winks.

~

There’s something about having the sun beating over her skin that always seems to bring a sense of calm. For a long time, the sea is Isabela’s home, rolling waves and endless blue as familiar to her as the halls of a childhood home would be to anyone else. 

She watches the ships pulling into the harbor in comfortable silence. One of these days, she’ll have it all back again. Hopefully when that day comes, Hawke will have broken in her sea legs.

“So the guards on duty are going to be taken care of,” Hawke absently says, keen eyes still scanning the area, “and we’re supposed to just slip in, find the package, and slip right out?” 

Isabela hums. “That’s how it’s supposed to go.” 

Taking jobs in Kirkwall affords them the comfort of never having to survey the layout prior to raiding. Kirkwall’s docks are situated in such a way that tends to funnel all foot traffic in and out of the same entrance, but during the first three years, they become acquainted with the secret pathways that make for quick escapes into the hidden alleyways of Darktown or the other lesser-known alleys of Lowtown.

Antiva City’s docks are carved into the face of the stone cliffs that greet every ship, wide-open harbor taking any and all newcomers seeking to drop anchor for a few days. To get to the warehouses, one must first gain entry past the guards patrolling the perimeter. When Ernesto finishes explaining the plan, he ensures that the guards will be taken care of. Of course, plans don’t always come through and disarming whoever has watch duty tonight shouldn’t be much of a problem.

“You could always hit ‘em with a sleep spell if we have to improvise,” Isabela suggests with a shrug. “No sense in killing anyone if we don’t need to.”

“And we know what we’re swiping?”

Isabela nods adamantly. “Spices, perfumes, jewels… nothing that you can’t carry in a satchel and certainly nothing that requires more than one person to carry. Although, I won’t complain if you pick up some nice silks or interesting trinkets. I was thinking of expanding my collection.”

Hawke nudges her with an elbow and she smiles. If only she could stay with Hawke in this moment. If only she could remain sitting on a wall overlooking Antiva City’s harbor with the cool breeze sweeping by her. 

Maybe Hawke is right—a change of venue could be good for them. She could get that house with the historic architecture and winding marble steps, silk and gold adorning them both, and let the years simply pass by as they bask in the glamor of this glittering city by the sea.

“After we slip past the guards,” Isabela continues, “we need to find the shipment marked with twin snakes. Ernesto’s people will be dead set on getting the knives and we need to swipe it before his people get to them.”

Hawke raises a brow. “Insurance?”

“Yep.”

“It almost sounds like you don’t trust Ernesto. I thought he was good for coin?”

“He is,” Isabela sucks her teeth, “but he’s still a businessman. Getting paid is his top priority and we’re allowed to tag along because he’s sure we’ll help him get what he needs.”

“And we need to get our hands on the set first to make sure we get what we need,” Hawke says. “So, it’s not a matter of not trusting him but making sure he remembers that we’re all in this for a reason.”

Every raider conducts their business differently. Some are the worst assholes in the world; cheating, lying, and stealing every bit of plunder they can despite any prior agreements. Others are all smoke and mirrors—big bad wannabes more focused on forging a reputation than making money. There’s not a single way that makes one raider more successful than the next, but the first step is always knowing how to hash out the full weight of one’s worth in coin.

Isabela stretches her arms high above her head and yawns “Raider semantics. An oddity to some, but a matter of getting paid or finding yourself face down naked in a ditch somewhere.”

Hawke snorts rather loudly, sounds muffled by her hand evolving into full raucous laughter that draws stares from some people passing by them. 

“Now that’s a story I’d love to hear!” 

In the corner of Isabela’s eye, a ship cuts a path along the horizon and approaches the harbor. It looks no different from any merchant ship she has ever had the pleasure of raiding in the past, but the twin snakes emblazoned on the sails has her smiling just a bit. 

It’s been a while since she’s done a good old-fashioned job.

“Later.” She nods towards the ship pulling closer and closer to Antiva City. 

~

“We’ll be fine as long as we stick with a low profile, I promise.” Isabela says, tightening the buckles on her boots. When she finishes, she leans up and catches Hawke sliding her knives in sheathes strapped to her thighs.  

“Is he good at keeping a low profile?” Hawke asks, shifting to tie her cornrows into a ponytail. She tosses a glance Isabela’s way. “I’m all for making coin without getting stabbed in the back, but having Templars on my ass will certainly complicate things.”

“As long as you stick to the basic stuff, you should be good.” Isabela counts off the bottles of poison in her pouch again—once more for posterity—and then seals the pouch tight. “If things go tits up, Ernesto doesn’t know anything. Getting out of here is our responsibility.”

A sly smile tugs at the corners of Hawke’s lips and Isabela can’t help but return one of her own. “I was going to say something about tits usually being a sign of fun times, but I suppose that would be a bit tasteless.”

“Now, now,” Isabela rises and crosses the room to stand face to face with Hawke. The shift in the air is sudden, exhilarating and tense all the same, and Isabela is suddenly aware of the closeness of their lips. All she needs to do is tip forward, rise up on her toes, and the evening could be something completely different. “Who’s to say tits won’t make an appearance at some point?”

Hawke bites her lip—all she needs to do is rise up on her toes—and chuckles lowly. “Here’s hoping, eh?”

~

Ernesto makes Isabela and Hawke meet his people in an alleyway behind the brothel. He is there to greet them but pleasantries are kept short for the time being. A quick run through of the plan refreshes everyone’s minds and, in the eerie silence, Isabela formulates additional plans in case things don’t go quite the way everyone is expecting. 

They wrap up matters with the plan and break off into groups, quickly moving under the cover of night and shrouded from head to toe in dark clothes. Ernesto sticks with Hawke and Isabela, both hanging back as he leads the way to the docks and the entrance of the warehouse. 

His plan is solid—three groups splitting off to overwhelm the guards. One group circles around the back entrance to draw the guards inside away from some of the inner chambers while another pulls the remaining guards on the outside another way. Both groups will generate as much noise as possible while the third group slips in through the front, empty satchels waiting for plenty of riches to fill them.

A standard in and out job. 

The lot of them duck behind a building as a set of guards patrol along the outer perimeter of the entrance. Isabela hears the silent curse Ernesto hisses under his breath.

“Those aren’t your guards?” she whispers. 

“Not those ones. My guys are at the door.”

She can see the guards he’s talking about at the very door, both shifting to look towards the dark corner the group huddles in. Isabela glances at Hawke and she simply nods. 

“I got this,” Hawke says, pulling up her mask. “The spell will only hold for as long as the guards remain undisturbed.” She looks at Ernesto. “So don’t touch them.”

Hawke quietly rises from the darkness and scales the wall leading down to the docks. Already, Isabela can feel Hawke from here. To anyone else, the sudden buzz between their teeth and gooseflesh rising on their skin would be indicative of something else. But the time she spends fighting alongside Hawke teaches her differently.

All the years Hawke spent living under the very noses of Templars seeking to drag any apostates to the Circle teaches her how to hide herself in plain sight. It’s an odd feeling to describe, but even standing near Hawke as she casts a spell makes it very clear to all around her how it is that she’s able to conceal herself so well. The feeling is faint at first, not something easily noticeable to those unsure of what to look for, but it is there nonetheless. 

A whisper in the distance.

A shift in the very air.

A balance that obviously tips but untrained minds unable to determine what that change truly is. 

The world interacting with the tendrils of magic seeping from one world into another and there is Hawke, fluent in the language of the invisible undercurrents of power passing between one world to the next and a master at manipulating the balance to her advantage. Every mage pulls their power from the Fade, but in the same breath, a mage can control how much of that power is felt by the world around them.

Isabela knows this power intimately. She finds herself standing upwind of the scorching heat on Hawke’s very fingertips and completely bare to the bitter cold seeping from her very pores. During the qunari invasion, she bears witness to Hawke doing with her magic things she never sees her do before—body enveloped by flame and bits of her energy violently crackling in the air. She is a force, a brilliant calamity lying in wait, unforgiving and devastating when unleashed. 

A steady calm suddenly washes over Isabela and she makes a fist, nails painfully digging into her palm. 

“What the…” Ernesto hisses. 

“Stay focused. It won’t get us from this distance but you’ll still feel the residual effects.”

Hawke is silent on her feet as she moves, weaving in and out of the darkness the closer she gets to the two guards unaware of her presence. She ducks behind a set of unloaded crates still sitting on the dock and waits. For a moment, Isabela inhales sharply. Hawke peeks around her cover as the guards approach. 

The guards don’t have time to register her presence when she pops around the crates, her hand extending towards them and soft light emanating from her palm. Both guards fall limp and useless to the ground, dropping their torches into the inky abyss and killing the only light source illuminating the area. 

“Let’s move!” Ernesto orders.

Adrenaline rushes through Isabela’s blood as she makes quiet strides towards the docks with the group. Everyone is careful to step around the sleeping guards lying in a heap. She stops long enough to clap Hawke on her shoulder with a laugh. 

So far so good.

Ernesto’s insiders scramble to get the door open, one fumbling with the keys and earning an impatient hiss from the man himself. When the lock is undone, the two insiders push the doors open and quickly step out of the way of the raiders flooding into the warehouse. 

Most of the others dive right into the crates, breaking open the wood and shredding ropes with their swords. The telltale clink of porcelain and gold, the shuffle of silks and fine fabrics coming undone, and the jingle of precious gems passing between hands as each is stuffed into a satchel fills her ears—glorious, glorious music of people getting richer by the second.

Isabela and Hawke rush to the back of the warehouse, eyes scanning every shipment and hands tearing at the tarp to scrutinize the seals. 

They blaze through every crate and barrel in their path looking for the twin snakes emblem. In their haste, they stuff their satchels with as much as they can find, yet the material things matter little compared to the true prize hidden somewhere within the warehouse. Echoes of the fight raging on the outside rise in volume the longer they search for the knives. A sharp crack of wood startles Isabela and she quickly scans the warehouse for any unexpected intruders. 

Or rather, less unexpected than the intruders already inside the warehouse.

“We need to hurry! The damn guards are gonna break in here any minute!” she urges. 

“I know!” Hawke tears through another tarp with her knife and growls. “You’d think a set of fucking knives would be easy to find in all this mess!”  

Isabela sucks her teeth and angrily drops the tarp currently in her hand. “Keep looking!” 

Searching for the knives puts Isabela in frenzy. Pounds of cloth lay at her feet, each shredded by her knife and uncaringly tossed into a heap when the results don’t yield what she seeks. The sight of every seal agitates her further—twin roses, twin rabbits, twin everything but snakes in each batch—but she continues looking for the prize she seeks. 

A clatter of noise has her whipping around and she realizes that Hawke is gone. The noise rattles again and she ducks behind some crates with her one of her knives drawn. Footsteps slowly pad along the creaky wood and she grips the hilt of her blade tight. She takes a quiet breath, holds it for as long as she needs, and slowly lets it out through her nose. Slow breaths for each step and shuffle of cloth upon the ground. She can’t risk poking her around the corner for fear of a guard or one of Ernesto’s people looking to expand their cut. 

Every footstep marches to the thud of her heart, creeping closer by the second but then pulling away in their search. 

The footsteps stop in front of the crates she hides behind and her blood freezes. She remains as still as she possibly can, knuckles as taut as the rest of her. Time passes slowly and the seconds stretch into uncomfortable minutes. 

Hawke. 

Andraste’s tits, she doesn’t know where Hawke is. 

No guards are supposed to be this deep into the warehouse, but as she waits in bated silence, Isabela is suddenly aware of the quiet now gripping this place. Ernesto’s people are gone. Or the distraction fails despite their best efforts. It’s an honest mistake on her part and one she should’ve known better to let happen. A job never stops being a job no matter how frustrating or exhilarating it gets. 

Breathe in and breathe out. Steady and quiet. Very, Very quiet. Isabela flips the blade in her hand, ready to strike. 

The crates creak as pressure is put upon them and she holds her breath. Assuming the person leaning upon the crates is facing them, all it will take is one tug. One well placed jerk that will bring them forward and close enough for her to sink her blade into their neck. 

Another creak resonates within the room and Isabela shifts her weigh upon the balls of her feet. And the sudden meaty thud of a body hitting the ground follows. 

Isabela remains quiet but hears the click of a familiar tongue. 

She carefully peeks over the top of the crates and finds Hawke looking around. Tucked under her arm is a decorative box bearing a seal etched in gold—twin snakes wrapping around each other in a very beautiful pattern. 

“Hawke?” she whispers, slowly peeking further around the crates. 

Hawke snaps her way and audibly sighs in relief. “Thank the fucking Maker!”

Isabela rises and steps over the unconscious guard sleeping soundly on the ground. She cups a hand around Hawke’s neck and pulls her in for a rough kiss, teeth clacking and pinching their lips. When they pull apart, both are breathing very hard.

“Let’s go!” 

~

It comes as a relief that the collective shock on most of the East End Brigand crew looks more like surprise than horror as Isabela and Hawke march through their headquarters. Horrified shock is a knife that was dug into a back but running into the ghost of what was long thought dead. This kind of shock looks more like no one thought she or Hawke made it out, so she doesn’t have to show Ernesto what for. 

Good. 

Ernesto stands in the back room with the Crows that have hovered over him from the start. The infliction in their Antivan is harsh and clipped, bodies squaring up in the heated exchange. When Ernesto finally looks up to see her and Hawke approaching, his eyes widen.

“We thought you were had, Isabela.” 

“Come now. You know me better than that, Ernesto.” Isabela takes the decorative box from Hawke—all six daggers of Livia Armenius undamaged and accounted for—and presents the box to Ernesto. 

He rubs his temples and sighs wearily, adrenaline completely exhausted but a long few weeks still ahead of him. Part of her pities the sleepless nights that will follow, but she knows well enough that Ernesto wouldn’t have taken the job if he didn’t think he could handle it. 

He takes the box from Isabela and presents it to the Crows. Their shrouded forms trade looks before one accepts it and opens it up to examine the blades. It takes a full minute until the Crow examining the blades looks up and nods.

The Crow not holding the box pulls a rather large sack of coin from within their robes and hands it to Ernesto. Isabela and Hawke watch Ernesto pry open the bag and counts aloud forty sovereigns for each one, setting every coin in their open hands. 

She’ll always love the rush of satisfaction that courses through her veins at the end of a job well done. It feels like a heavier coin purse jingling as she walks out of the well-guarded warehouse with Hawke in tow. It feels like the burst of laughter between them when they get far enough away, Hawke leaning on her for support because her laughs always take the wind out of her. It feels like the sweet kiss Hawke plants on her lips when they return to their room, eager hands making quick work of the buckles, straps, and ties of their leather armor.

“See,” Isabela says as Hawke gently bites a path from her neck to her breasts, “I knew we could squeeze some tits in there.”

Hawke snorts and squeezes Isabela’s breast.

~

“I thought it would’ve been a ship.”

Isabela struggles to keep her eyes open while she teeters on the edge of sleep, bone tired and sated body still tingling all over. She yawns rather loudly. “Baby steps, sweet thing. You start off with standard jobs and then work your way up to ships.”

“And then I get to be a notorious raider?” 

“Among other things.”

Hawke ponders in silence for a moment and Isabela stares at her for just as long. 

“I was thinking about something.”

Isabela tilts her head. “Yeah?”

“Just…” Hawke pauses and a small smile graces her face, stirring warmth deep down that grows increasingly familiar to Isabela by the day. “I kinda wish we could just stay here for a little while longer, you know?”

Isabela sighs. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

~

Isabela can see the disappointment all over Hawke’s face as if a part of her stays behind in Antiva City. The further they sail away from the slate cliffs and brilliant architecture, the more weary her sighs become. 

“We’ll come back,” Isabela reassures, gently nudging Hawke with her shoulder. “I promise we will.”

Hawke glances at her and then smiles brightly. 


End file.
